


Softly, as a morning sunrise

by LaughableLament



Series: SPN Masquerade [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Barebacking, Bottom Sam, Community: spn-masquerade, Dirty Talk, Don't copy to another site, Implied/Referenced Past Underage, Incest Kink, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Rimming, SPN Masquerade Round 7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:49:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27670255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughableLament/pseuds/LaughableLament
Summary: Sam gets off on Dean reminding him that he's always been a cockslut for his own big brother, calling Sam little brother/baby brother/big brother's good boy etc while fucking him. (fill for Supernatural Masquerade, Round 7)
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: SPN Masquerade [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2011297
Comments: 22
Kudos: 118





	Softly, as a morning sunrise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SmittenJ2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmittenJ2/gifts).



> Cross-posted from [spn-masquerade](https://spn-masquerade.livejournal.com/12846.html?thread=4545582#t4545582).

“Mornin’.”

Dean’s murmur lifts Sam out of sleep. Sweat-drenched, plastered to his brother’s side, face half in Dean’s armpit and an arm and leg slung over. Dean’s morning wood digs in Sam’s thigh; breath puffs in his hair. Fingernails sketch gentle circles on his scalp.

Dean rubs on him, damp and sticky. Sam neglects his hard-on, doesn’t want to move yet.

“How long, you figure?” Dean cradles Sam’s head. “You been wakin’ up glommed on me like this?” His embrace turns half into a headlock.

“Fuck you,” Sam mutters.

“Don’t be like that; I ain’t finished.” Dean pets down his shoulder, pulls him closer. “I mean. You was humping my leg in your sleep before you knew what your dick was for.”

“Dude,” Sam tries for disapproving, but his voice shakes and his dick leaks. Anytime Dean starts running his mouth like this, Sam’s in for a ride.

Dry kiss in his hair. “And you’d claimed this spot years before that.” Dean lays his free hand on Sam’s leg, pins it tight across his crotch. “I thought you were just clingy until you started rubbing us both off.” He flexes, blazes under Sam’s thigh. “’Course,” Dean flips, turns Sam on his back, “by then you were just pretending to be asleep.” Dean hovers, drifts with his fingers, tickles and teases and circles Sam’s nipples.

Sam shivers. Arches into his brother’s hand.

“Look at you.” Dean laughs low. “Gettin’ all worked up, gettin’ them titties played with.” Callused thumb rakes a tender point. Sam’s face heats—Dean and his cheesy porn dialogue—but goosebumps prick his arms when Dean hums in his ear, “Squirm so pretty, Sammy,” and he pinches, twists and swipes. Sam chokes a moan. “What’s gonna happen when I get ahold of this?” Dean grazes fingers, traces Sam’s vein, root to crown. Compensates when Sam bucks.

Sam pants, “Come on, man.”

“Oh I will.” Dean scratches in his creases, palms his balls. “I’ma come on that face, up that ass…” Coals flare as Dean’s fist engulfs him, tight at the base. Sam grits his teeth and groans. “Now.” Dean squeezes. Jacks him dry. “You gonna be good for me?” Sam’s wits drain away with the precome slicking down his shaft. Dean thumbs his slit. Scritches, circles with the nail. Ripples, twists, and flicks. Punches his hips; cock jams wet and heavy at Sam’s side. “Dirty Sammy,” Dean breathes in his ear, “so hot.” He noses, nips and tugs the lobe while he teases Sam’s sweet spots. “Want you on your knees, little brother; let’s go. Give that ass up.”

Sam blushes like a fire truck. Turns prone while Dean roots through the spent beer cans piled on the nightstand. Clatter of aluminum jolts him, apropos of nothing except that he knows what Dean’s rummaging for.

“That ain’t your knees,” fond, fake scolding. Bedsprings creak; Dean situates. Hunkered between Sam’s ankles, hand on his hip, guiding. Up and back and wide, until Dean’s breath sweeps cool on his fevered skin. “My favorite breakfast,” and Dean scrapes teeth across his cheek.

Sam moans, rocks back.

“See, that’s what I’m talkin’ about.” Dean drags his stubbled chin up and down Sam’s crack. Makes Sam shake. “I ain’t even touched your hole yet, and you’re already trying to fuck yourself on my face.” He slips both arms around, holds Sam still and sucks a hickey right above his tailbone. “So good for me, baby brother.”

Dean stalls. Sam squirms in his grip but Dean stubbornly bypasses. Licks with fat, wet stripes, kisses his tailbone and taint. Sam digs toes in the mattress; fists twist the sheets. Sweat rolls—down his thighs, up his spine. He chews his lips so he won’t beg. Dean’s grip relaxes as he concentrates on Sam’s rim. Little licks, spearing his center, catching on the tender skin. Tongue tip dips in and Sam cries out, muffled in a pillow. Dean seizes him, bruise-tight grip, tongue-fucks, sloppy-wet. Sam pushes back. Dean palms his cheeks and splits him, far as he’ll go. Devastates him. Licks in circles, growls against him.

Sam pants out loud, moans fast and shallow. Dean alternates: clamps Sam’s ass to his face, then spreads Sam, then—

Dean slips a finger in and Sam turns to static. Stretches, sizzles. Dribble of lube like icewater shocks and soothes him. Dean fingerfucks and Sam wills himself open. Pulls his own cheeks apart, wanton.

“Yeah,” Dean rumbles, “that’s perfect, baby brother, show me that hole.”

Sam would blush again, if his blood vessels had any more room to expand. He’s a human torch. Quaking, grasping at Dean’s fingers and drooling all over the pillow.

“Easy.” Dean twists and curls. Sam clamps down, feels Dean’s knuckles bumping in and out. “Gotta be patient, Sammy. Gotta make room.” Sam shudders. Gets him every time, _making room_. Taking his brother inside him. Dean yanks his balls just as Sam’s body starts sending warning signs. “Uh-uh.” He slides up, blankets Sam. “On my cock.” Teeth graze behind Sam’s neck. Hard-on nestles in his crack. “Gonna fuck your nuts dry. Flip over.”

Dean gets out of bed then, gets a water from the mini fridge and slugs back half. Hand on his hip, boner pointed at the sky and a slick sweat-sheen golden in intruding sun. Sam watches Dean’s throat work, pictures the freckles he can’t see. Dean rolls his shoulders, tosses Sam the bottle and crawls back in. Glides Sam’s legs apart.

“Thank you.” Sam drinks. Adds the empty plastic to the toppled beer cans on the floor.

Dean nods. Tongue slips out to catch his bottom lip and drag it back between his teeth. He rubs Sam’s shins. Eyes flutter closed and his mouth quirks at one corner; nostrils flare.

“You remember what I told you, when you ditched me for college?”

Sam freezes. They don’t talk about… have _never_ talked about…

“You can suck and fuck your way all down the coast but this ass is mine.”

Yeah, Sam remembers. Dean told Sam how proud he was, over and over while he tore Sam to pieces. Dragged orgasms out of him, came in him. Sam still wonders if Dean got his hands on Viagra for that night. What Dean means, casually dropping it—

“Can’t nobody rail you right like your big brother anyway.” Dean lifts Sam’s knees; thoughts skitter away. “Hold ’em up, nice and wide.” He folds Sam’s legs toward his chest, and Sam curls so tight he can hardly breathe, feet in the air and ass off the mattress. “God, Sammy, you’re so good,” Dean’s voice wavers, “so hot like this, do anything to get my dick.”

He presses in. Cockhead catches, slips off Sam’s rim; Dean tries the second time pulling one of Sam’s cheeks to the side and just like that, Sam seals around Dean’s shaft. Shattering. Sparks storm Sam’s spine. Heartbeats. Dean buries himself. Sam’s dick twitches, leaks and strains at nothing while Dean gathers Sam’s legs to his chest. Dean’s first stroke out burns worse than his first thrust in. He hesitates, shifts their weight so he’s fucking down into Sam with a little hitch that lights Sam’s insides. Bedframe bangs the wall and the springs shriek under them, crashing into one another.

Dean lifts again, lets Sam’s legs splay across his elbows, doubles down for a kiss above Sam’s belly button. Cockhead rasps in his stubble. Sam scrabbles at his shoulders. “Hang on.” Dean snakes his arms under Sam’s arched back. Sam circles him, arms over his shoulders, legs around his waist. Dean roots himself deep and hoists Sam, easy like he’s still a lanky kid. Sam hangs in space, speared on Dean’s dick. Dangling. Eyes squeezed shut and leaking slick between their bellies. Dean licks up his neck and hums like Sam’s delicious. Kisses, under his jaw, over his Adam’s apple while Sam rolls, swirls Dean’s dick deep in him.

“Made for my cock,” Dean murmurs. “All I gotta do is give it to you and you fuck yourself. Can’t get enough.” Dean bounces him. Sam shouts and clings tighter. Dean lowers him to the pillows and kisses his lips. “You wanna ride me, or…”

Sam shakes his head.

“Knees up, then.” Dean grins.

Sam resumes the position. Grits his teeth when Dean re-ups the lube. He’s loose enough to feel it trickling in him, loose enough for Dean to plunge all the way in and fuck him ruthless. Dean slams into him, jars his teeth. Sam fucks back, clenches, rakes with his nails.

Dean pants, “Y’bout ready?” Sweat drips off his nose, lands warm on Sam’s chest. “Get that money shot up your ass?”

Sam shudders.

“Take that as a ‘yes.’” Dean slicks leftover lube around Sam’s shaft and starts stroking in a counter-rhythm to his thrusts. “Lemme see you, man; nothin’ gets me off like watchin’ you blow on yourself.” He moves faster. Ramps up his filthy talk and clutches tight, jerks Sam brutal. “So good, Sammy, big brother’s little come dumpster—”

Sam comes so hard he almost throws Dean off. Thick spurts splash and all Sam’s muscles quake. Now he begs. “Please, Dean, come inside me, fuck me, make me yours.”

Vaguely, he hears Dean yell before he goes still, jammed deep in Sam’s ass and flooding him. Sam rocks; they trade groaning aftershocks. Dean softens and slips free in a scalding rush that makes Sam hiss and shiver.

Once they’re recovered, Dean rolls off to one side and they stare, shoulder-to-shoulder, eye-to-eye.

Apropos of nothing, Sam starts laughing. “Come dumpster?”

Dean flushes pink but huffs, “You shot like an Apollo rocket; I don’t wanna hear it.” They hold hands, tucked in the tangle of covers. “Face it man, I’m an awesome brother.”

Sam squeezes, pets Dean’s thumb.

“I guess you have your moments,” Sam says.

Thinks, _Yeah, you really are_.

**Author's Note:**

> [masquerade master post is here](https://laughablelament.tumblr.com/post/635531316339884033/masquerade-round-7-master-list-big-love-to)


End file.
